TangledBound (10 page)

“You still want to submit, even after Vegas.” He didn’t pose
it as a question. And he wasn’t at a safe distance anymore. Sam now stood
inches away from her, cornering her between his body and her car door.

Melanie moistened her lips and stared at the hollow of his
throat. Dark-blond hair curled above the crew neck of the t-shirt visible past
the open collar of his button-down. She hated him. She
hated
him, with
big bold capital letters and a double underline and twelve exclamation points.
But she also wanted to touch him, to pull the tails of his shirt out of his
pants and test the heat of his stomach, to press her lips against that silky
patch of hair below his pulse.

“And you? What do
you
want?” she heard herself ask.

Sam stiffened. “I’m not looking for a playmate, Melly.”

“Then why come to a party like this?” She forced her focus
up to his eyes, made herself concentrate on asking questions even though his
casual slip into the nickname only he had ever used melted her a little inside.
“Is it part of your job? I thought it was a private party.”

“Knowing my clientele is part of my job, yeah. So is
networking and advertising my business. So is reading intent in body language
and interactions between people.” His fingertip skimmed the bare line of her
collar bone as he spoke. “I have years of experience watching people,
interpreting their signs. Do you know when Winston touched you, you shrank away
from him? Your muscles were tense. Your lips pressed tight.”

He kept touching her, drawing a line up the sensitive ridge
of a tendon in her neck. The pad of his thumb stroked her bottom lip. Melanie’s
eyelids grew heavy. She fought an urge to close her eyes.
H.A.T.E.

“You weren’t giving off the signals of a woman who didn’t
want to be touched,” Sam said. “You were giving off the signals of a woman who
didn’t want to be touched by the person touching her.”

Melanie struggled to swallow past the knot of excitement in
her throat. She tried to focus on hating him but instead of a rush of
humiliation like she’d felt slinking from his hotel room, the rush she
experienced now was one hundred percent eagerness for more. She tipped her head
back and raised her chin. Exposed her neck, closed her eyes and surrendered.

Sam’s free hand slid into her hair. He pulled her head back
at a sharper angle and drew a line from her pulse to the valley between her
breasts. Hooking a finger in the keyhole notch above the center point of her
bra, he made an inarticulate sound.

Her questioning murmur came out more like a moan. Sam cursed
beneath his breath. “You have no idea how to protect yourself, do you?”

The rough edge of his tone abraded her spine.

“I have pepper spray.” She refused to open her eyes. The
heel of his palm rested between her breasts, a warm weight she didn’t want to
frighten away.

“I’m not talking about protection from being mugged.
Hell
.”
Sam flexed his fingers in her hair and on her skin. “You need somebody to keep
you safe from yourself.”

“Sir—”

“Not me.” He released her abruptly and backed away. She
hadn’t realized how close he was until the heat of his body left and the winter
cold blew across her unprotected stomach.

Back to shivering, Melanie reluctantly opened her eyes. Sam
stood in arm’s reach but only barely, raking one hand through his hair and not
looking at her. In a single sweeping glance, she picked up on the evidence of
his arousal, prominent behind the fly of his pants.

“Sam,” she said, trying again. Tentatively, she added,
“Sir.”

He shook his head and pointed at her car. “Get in and go
home. Stay off the damn Internet.”

Her back stiffened. “You have no right to do this. My
personal life is mine. You didn’t want it, remember?”

His refusal of her made no sense, not given his obvious
interest and her obvious response, but it was a good thing. Humiliation and
embarrassment buffeted her like the icy wind, reminding her of the hate.
Ignoring the curious eyes of the valet, she slid behind the wheel and tried to
close the door. Sam blocked her.

With one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the
door, he leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Do you really think you’re
ready for what I want from you?”

She couldn’t look at him. Turning away, she stared straight
ahead and mustered her courage. “I really think you owe me an apology, and then
I think you owe me the right to make an informed decision about what you want
and whether I’m capable of giving it.”

He straightened. Melanie clenched her fists on the steering
wheel, disappointed. Mad at herself for being disappointed. What happened to
the hate that had fueled her since August?

“Move over,” Sam said. “I’ll drive.”

Chapter Nine

She turned off the radio. “Where are we going?”

“I haven’t gotten that far in the plan.” He navigated her
small car out of the hotel parking lot and merged with traffic. He quickly
glanced at her, only to find her staring out the window. Sam looked back to the
road. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you in Vegas. Right from the
beginning, I undervalued your feelings and dismissed your sense of self-awareness.
When you turned to me with your questions, I should have referred you to
somebody who could answer them with a neutral attitude.”

“You confused me.” She sighed and shifted in her seat, as if
she had something else to say, but she didn’t continue.

Sam prompted her with, “What else? We’re talking right now.
That means you have to keep talking.”

“And you scared me, that last night.”

“I didn’t know of any other way to stop myself, except
making you want me to stop.”

“I didn’t—don’t—want you to stop yourself.” She frowned at a
little hula girl bobble-head figure mounted on her dashboard. “I want you to
trust me to be able to handle you, without pushing to extremes that you know
will scare me.”

“I need somebody who will be able to cope with extremes.”
Sam tried to ignore the doll. He didn’t need the cheerful plastic reminder of
Melanie’s lightness, so sunny that it made him feel like the cruelest troll for
even entertaining the idea of bringing her into his darker world of deviance
and excess.

“Then show me how to welcome them instead of how to fear
them. I might be younger than you’re used to, but I’m not some emotional
infant.”

Silence fell between them as he chewed on her words. This
wasn’t the first time she’d shown him how he underestimated her, but he decided
it had to be the last. Wherever their relationship would go in the future, he
couldn’t keep assigning flaws that didn’t exist. He couldn’t keep hiding behind
them.

Determined to move forward, he asked, “Is there somewhere
you’d like to go?”

She fingered the hem of her skirt and spoke to her knees.
“I’d like to see your dungeon for real.”

Sam’s fists clenched on the steering wheel. “That would be a
very bad idea right now. Pick somewhere else.”

“I want to be where you feel like you have the right to
Dominate. Where you won’t feel like you have to hold back. If you won’t take me
to your dungeon, will you take me to your club? I’ve never seen anything like
that before, not in person.”

Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Honey, my right to
Dominate has nothing to do with location. If you think a submissive who’d given
me authority over her would be safer in a grocery store than a bedroom, you’re
wrong.”

“Will you please stop talking about me as if I’m a
hypothetical?” Distress weighed on her voice. “I’m giving you control. Whether
you choose to take it or not, it’s real. Not an ‘if’.”

“We’ll go to Bondage,” he said tightly. “But if you’re
looking for a scene with me, that’s not where it will happen. I work at
Bondage. I don’t conduct personal affairs there.”

The prospect of granting her access to his territory left
Sam with a bad feeling in his gut. The club was no place for her but if he took
her home, he wouldn’t have the safety net of witnesses to keep his instincts in
check.

She fidgeted for a minute before saying, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Melanie.” He infused the word with all the warning he could
muster.

She was quiet so long he started to relax, but when she
spoke again, one of his few remaining threads of willpower snapped.

“You’re my Sir. I can’t help it. I’ve tried to replace you
with somebody else. I was trying tonight, but you stopped me.”

Possessiveness surged in his chest. He kept his focus on the
road. If he looked at her, he’d have to pull the car over. “Winston isn’t for
you.”

“No, he isn’t. But if you’re not either, then I don’t know
what else to do.”

Since he didn’t know what to do either, they made a
perfectly matched pair.

* * * * *

At Bondage, Sam parked at the rear of the club. Floodlights
illuminated the lot and the vehicles that filled every space. Someone had
generously scattered rock salt across the ground, but some spots still bore
shiny coats of ice. In the time it took Melanie to unfasten her seatbelt and
retrieve her clutch purse from the backseat, Sam exited the car and walked
around to open her door.

“Careful,” he said, taking her hand when she reached for the
top of the door frame for balance.

Touching him supercharged her nervous system. Heart racing,
a little lightheaded from his unexpected reaction, she stood unsteadily on her
heeled ankle boots. Sam didn’t help matters by taking her other hand to warm in
his grasp.

“You need gloves,” he said. “Do you have a pair in the car?”

She shook her head. “I can’t get a good grip on the wheel
when I’m wearing gloves.”

“The right kind of gloves will solve that problem. For now,
inside before you freeze. Watch the ice.” He stepped back and drew her forward,
reaching around her to close the passenger door. Melanie closed her eyes, just
for a minute pretending she had a right to his heat and scent.

It was a really great minute, stretching on so long Melanie
started to shiver. She opened her eyes to find Sam studying her intently.

Still holding both her hands against his chest, he asked,
“What draws you to D/s? The kink?”

Part of her started searching for the answer he would want
to hear. Another part of her realized she didn’t know him well enough to guess
at what that might be. Stuck with truth, she cautiously asked, “Is it weird and
daddy’s-girl of me to want somebody to be in charge? To say ‘no, that’s a bad
idea’ when I come up with a bad idea,
before
I act on it?”

“It’s not unusual,” he said, nothing in his tone to give
away what he actually thought of her response. “Many people find the kink is
just a gateway to something else.”

“Well, the kink isn’t exactly a turn-off. Will you…I’d like
to learn more about yours.”

“Head and heart first, body second,” he said. “When did your
parents divorce?”

Melanie shrugged. “Officially, not that long ago. Three
years. Unofficially, they’ve been separated for ages.” She bit her lip and
added, “I don’t have daddy issues. I have personal-faith issues.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Clarify.”

“I’m never sure whether I’m making a good decision or a bad
one. I second-guess. I second-guessed a lot with you, and I got bad advice,
which made things worse, but the problem isn’t that I got bad advice, it’s that
I didn’t recognize it as bad advice. Or I did, but I acted on it anyway.” She
averted her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. For pushing you and disrespecting your
right to say no and mean it.”

“It’s important to acknowledge and accept ‘no’.” He released
her hands, but grasped her chin and tilted her head until they were eye to eye.
“Don’t submit to anybody you don’t trust to accept
your
‘no’. Do you
understand?”

She did understand—from what she’d read and absorbed, BDSM
participants were fanatics for consent. Even though she couldn’t imagine a
scenario in which she’d refuse something Sam wanted from her, and she had a
hard time envisioning herself submitting to anybody else, she said, “Yes Sir.”

He nodded and ran his thumb across her bottom lip before
releasing her. “Come on. I’ve frozen you long enough.”

She
was
cold, and her thighs were going to burn like
crazy when they entered the club and her flesh thawed, but she had no
complaints about standing outside talking with Sam. She could’ve gone on all
night.

Sam had other plans. He linked their hands, a gesture she
wasn’t sure he was even aware of, and led the way across the lot. Melanie paid
careful attention to avoiding patches of ice. As she side-stepped a frozen-over
puddle, movement between two cars caught her eye. A weak, thready mewl reached
her ears. She stopped walking.

“Did you hear that?” Pulling her hand from Sam’s, she took a
few steps toward the vehicles.

“I didn’t hear anything.” He caught up to her and reclaimed
her hand, preventing her from advancing. “Whatever you heard, you shouldn’t be
investigating it at night in an empty parking lot. I’ll send somebody out to
take a look around.”

She strained at the limits of his reach, trying to see into
the shadows between the cars. “Do you have cats out here?”

“The staff probably feeds a stray. Melanie—”

“Strays should be collected and placed in homes or shelters,
not fed scraps of buffalo wings or whatever.” She escaped him and darted over
to crouch between the cars, slipping on a patch of ice in her haste. Even
though she caught herself with a hand on the fender of one of the cars, Sam’s
jaw clenched.

While David’s veiled permission to proceed with Melanie was
never far from Sam’s thoughts, he’d forgotten the rest of that poker table
conversation. Her father’s tirade about stray animals and babies came back to
him along with the sound of Melanie’s voice lowered in soft, tender
reassurance. Sam scrubbed both hands over his face, one step closer to defeat,
before he hunkered down to join her beside a tangle of scrawny, dirty fluff.

“I need a box,” she said, tucking one tiny, squirming body
into her coat. As she gingerly rescued a second kitten from behind a tire, she
yelped.

Sam caught her wrist and shifted to bring her fingers into
the light. A long scratch bisected the back of her hand. Small dots of blood
beaded on her skin.

“Enough,” he said. Standing, he pulled her to her feet,
ignoring her protests. “Bring the one you’ve got and come inside. I’ll send
somebody out to round up the rest, but this isn’t a job for you.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’. You’re not equipped to handle them and you’re
not qualified to care for them. We’re going inside, where I’ll disinfect that
scratch and you can contact the shelter of your choice to come get them.”

Melanie opened her mouth to say something but closed it
after a moment. The animal inside her coat squirmed, a lump scrabbling up her
chest, if her wince was any indication. “I just don’t want them to freeze to
death out here.”

“I understand, honey, but the best thing you can do is ask
for help from a qualified, prepared organization.”

She sighed and turned toward the building. “You must think
I’m the biggest pain in the ass.”

Sometimes, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he said, “I
think you have a very soft heart.”

“You probably think that’s a bad thing.”

“Stop trying to read my mind before you get yourself in
trouble.” At the employees’ entrance, Sam withdrew his work keys and unlocked
the door. As soon as he opened it, muted music rolled over him. He ushered a
wide-eyed Melanie inside and re-set the security code before pocketing his
keys.

Turning to her, he said, “I enjoy your soft heart, but
you’re going to have to harden it a little while you’re here. You’ll probably
see some things that scare you, on behalf of yourself or the submissive, but
it’s not your place to interfere with anything. If you have questions or
concerns, talk them out with me.”

“Yes Sir.” She pulled the thin kitten from inside her coat.

With a frown, Sam led her to the employee break room. A
newer member of his staff, one of the hospitality crew responsible for ensuring
clean-up after private rooms were used, sat at a round table with a paperback
and a bag of M&Ms in front of her.

“Hey, Carrie,” he said as he and Melanie walked into the
room. He made a personal policy of knowing his employees by name.

Carrie flipped her cell phone over, quickly checking the
time—to make sure she hadn’t overrun her break time, Sam assumed. Once she
satisfied herself regarding the time, she smiled at him.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” she said.

“I wasn’t but my plans changed. How are you with cats?”

She looked confused, but realization quickly dawned when
Melanie’s kitten mewled. “Oh wow. Ginger had her litter.”

“I found them outside,” Melanie said.

Carrie stood and rounded the table to admire the animal.
While the women cooed, he rummaged through the first-aid kit mounted to the
wall and grabbed a couple alcohol pads.

“I want you to clock back in and round up someone to help
you get them in a box and bring them inside where it’s warm.” He glanced at
Melanie. “Which organization should Carrie contact?”

Melanie reluctantly surrendered the shivering cat to Carrie.
“Cat Rescue Association is on call 24/7. They’d be able to send someone out
tonight.”

“I’ll put in a call,” Carrie promised.

“Thank you,” Sam said. He tore open an alcohol packet. “Let
me see the scratch, honey.”

Melanie balled her hand into a fist and drew back a step.
“That’s going to hurt.”

“An infection will hurt worse. Give me your hand.”

She bit her lip uncertainly. Sam held her gaze and said,
“Now.”

The little word pulled her back to him. She was still
anxious but she straightened her fingers and held out her hand. Sam encircled
her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. Their palms lined up, hers much
smaller than his.

“Trust is important,” he said. “Trust is what you give even
though you know it’s going to hurt, because you have faith that your Master
won’t intentionally prolong pain that isn’t asked for or earned.”

He swiped the alcohol pad down the long line of the scratch.
Melanie’s breath caught, but she didn’t make any other sound. Sam tossed the
used pad and nodded at her coat. “Did it scratch your chest?”

“Maybe a little.” She unbuttoned her coat without prompting
from him and shifted the neckline of her sweater to reveal the upper curve of
her breast. A couple of pink lines marked the creamy softness, but the cat
hadn’t drawn blood.